


Tangled Paths

by MsBarrows



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBarrows/pseuds/MsBarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ficlet based on a <a href="http://theresidentdevil.tumblr.com/post/54815552196">painting</a> by Anna M. Pippin (<a href="http://theresidentdevil.tumblr.com/">TheResidentDevil.Tumblr.Com</a>), of Anders healing a badly-beaten Sebastian Vael.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangled Paths

One foot in front of the other, again and again and again. Where he was going was not important; it was the away that counted. He'd learned that early on, in one of his first escapes. Don't worry about where you're going _to_ , it'll take care of itself. It was the _away from_ that mattered. Away from the Tower; away from the templars, away from the other mages, especially the ones who _accepted_ that it was their role in life to live locked away in a tall tower in the middle of a lake, like some fairy-tale princess. Only there was no prince ever coming for them; no chance of rescue.

He hadn't expected to be running again. He'd expected to die, back there in Kirkwall... and then when Hawke had spared him, he'd had a moment of hope... but a moment only, before she coldly ordered him to leave and never return. Told him that if she ever saw him again, she would not hesitate to kill him.

He hadn't even returned to the clinic to claim his few belongings, just rose to his feet and begun walking, not looking back. Belongings didn't matter any more, anyway. Hawke might have spared him, so as not to have his blood on her own hands, but he was sure others would be less finicky. In hours, days, weeks at most, somewhere... he would meet someone who would, for money, or out of belief, or anger, either turn him in to the templars, or kill him themselves. It was, at this point, inevitable.

Old instincts were hard to shake though. Away. Away he could do, no matter how tired, how grief-stricken, how hurt, how numb. One foot in front of the other, again and again and again.

* * *

Dark, somewhere in the wilds northwest of Kirkwall. Very dark, with both moons set, and only starlight left. At least he thought it was northwest; he hadn't been paying any real attention to direction, but the last of the sun he'd seen as it sank beneath the distant, cloudless horizon had been in front of him, towards the left. He stopped as the last of the light faded, the night growing dark enough to make further travel a risk, ignoring the ache in his feet and heart as he turned a slow circle, looking for somewhere to hole up for the night. He could make out the Vimmark mountains to the north, the bulk of what he guessed to be Sundermount far off to one side, the mountains visible only as a jagged area of sky where no stars showed. And, somewhere in the hills to the north of him, the faint glow of a fire; the fire itself not in view, but the glow of it visible for miles, a signal to anyone that there was someone there.

He looked at the silhouettes of the mountains in back of it, mentally marking where it was. He'd want to go some other direction the next day; a fire meant either a group, or someone foolhardy, and he had no wish to meet either. A group would be dangerous to him, and a lone traveller would attract danger of another kind, the environs of Kirkwall being a haven for slavers, brigands, tal'vashoth and the merely desperate despite years of effort by both Hawke and Aveline.

No fire for him; just a spot where he could curl up out of sight, tucked into a triangular wedge of space where two large boulders leaned together, years of rotting fallen leaves and needles, little ferns and moss bridging over the top of the gap between them to make a reasonable facsimile of a roof. He slept sitting upright against one of the rocks, legs stretched out, his arms crossed and hands tucked in for warmth. Not a sound sleep, but better poor sleep than to sleep too deeply and miss the arrival of some predator, whether two-, four- or eight-legged.

* * *

There was a distant fire in view to the northeast of him again the next night, and then to the north the next as well, much closer now; he was travelling at a better pace than whomever that was, assuming it was even the same person or persons each night and not three unrelated fires. It made him feel slightly less alone, curled up in a bed of bracken ferns under the shelter of a fallen tree, watching that distant glow. He wondered who it was; where they were going. Briefly entertained the fantasy of it being someone who'd be happy of his company – apostates fleeing to Tevinter, maybe, he thought, and smiled humourlessly.

Northwest was at least the right direction for that, at least to anyone who wasn't aware of how zealously the Nevarrans guarded their border with the Imperium, or the vast, desiccated wastes of the Silent Plains that one would have to somehow cross, where no water could be found and every rock, dead plant, and hillock of sand seemingly hid some venomous insect or reptile that would be quite happy to dine on unlucky traveller.

Though on a much smaller scale of distances, there _was_ a pass through the Vimmark mountains somewhere to the northwest of Kirkwall, a narrow gorge cut through them by a river that ran down out of Wildervale before splitting into a delta of several smaller rivers that emptied into the Waking Sea some distance west of Kirkwall. Not an easy pass, being little more in some places than a narrow ledge hacked into the sheer sides of the gorge, just barely wide enough for mule trains or single-yoke ox carts; he recalled Varric having described taking a trip through it once. Perhaps that was what the fire represented; some merchant with a string of mules, carrying goods north. He amused himself deciding on what they might be taking to the north, deciding on increasingly fantastical cargoes until sleep finally claimed him.

By dusk the next evening he was entering the rougher lands not far from the gorge, and debating whether to continue north through it himself, or to look for a place where he could cross the river and continue westwards. Not that there was much of interest to the west, just more coastlands, largely empty, until one reached Nevarra. While if he went north, there was Wildervale, and then further north, Tantervale, on the Minanter where it squeezed past the southern end of the Hundred Pillars. One of the few places where it might be possible to sneak north into Tevinter, skirting the narrow habitable zone between the edge of the Plains and the barren ridge of the mountains, which ran in an unbroken, uncrossable sprawl of peaks from the river to where it finally petered out in the edges of the Arlathan Forest far to the north. Peaks so tall they remain snow- and ice-capped year round. Those who'd attempted crossings returned telling of water that boiled without being more than luke-warm, of air so cold and thin that even those raised among lesser mountains found themselves falling ill to the mountain sickness. Of people falling prey to delusions, walking off cliffs or sitting down and freezing where they sat, refusing to move either forward or back down. Of crevasses that opened underfoot, or thunderous slides of ice and snow, swallowing parties whole.

North, he decided, as he backed into a chimney in a rock-face, planning to sleep there for the night, protected by good solid rock on three sides. He looked off to the north as he thought it, and was startled to see the glow of a fire again, just beyond a small ridge of pine-covered earth. It made him glad he'd stopped early; if he'd kept on going, he might have ended up walking right into whomever that was, before their lighting of a fire warned him of their presence. He'd have to be very quiet, he decided; sound travelled further at night, and even a couple of rocks knocking together or the grate of boot sole against stone could warn whomever was there that there was someone else nearby.

Accordingly, he very carefully wedged himself into the chimney, knees raised before him so he could rest his arms and head on them, the chimney being too small to allow him to lie down anyway, and he once again preferring alertness over a sound sleep. He watched the flickering and gradual ebb of the firelight through half-closed eyes for a long time, finally drifting off into uneasy sleep.

* * *

Shouts and sounds of a fight awoke him. Anders tensed, forcing himself to remain still. Bandits, he guessed, or slavers, the sounds of the voices being higher-pitched than tal'vashoth would be, and the shouting making it clear it was unlikely any merely animal predator that was attacking whomever was camped just out of sight from him. A cut-off outcry, a gurgling sound, then angrier shouting, a sudden loud pained cry... a brief silence. A silence broken by a pained scream, jeers, a muffled outcry, and then sounds of a beating carrying far too clearly on the cold night air, blows of fists and feet against flesh, the involuntary cries of someone in pain.

He froze, huddling back into the protection of the rock, for a brief moment merely glad that it was not him. And then felt ashamed of that, even as he covered his ears and tried not to hear the too-familiar sounds. It seemed a long time until they finally stopped. He was shaking, face damp with tears, lower lip swollen and aching from where he'd almost bit through it in holding back his own distress, in keeping silent.

The glow of the fire brightened; more wood thrown on it. Soft conversation after that, interspersed with harsh swearing, coarse laughter; the sort of sounds men made sitting around a fire and drinking, talking, but underlying it, intermittent moans and whimpers of pain.

Foolish to leave his shelter, more foolish yet to stay anywhere in the area once he had shakily risen to his feet, yet he found himself crouching down, making his way silently through the trees cloaking the rise, until he could squat down in the shadow of a screen of brush, peering through it at the scene spread out below him.

To one side of a clearing, a body, a broken-off arrow still standing forth from its throat. Doubtless the reason for their anger; judging by the bandages and blood spatters he could make out on some of the others, few of them had escaped unscathed from their attack on the camp. And to one side... a single person, dangling by tied wrists from a tree branch, hung not quite low enough to kneel, head hanging limply. Male, he thought by their general shape, ankles fastened to a peg or root some little distance behind him, preventing him from getting his feet under him and taking his weight off of shoulders and arms, or relieving the bite of rope into wrists.

It took him a moment to even recognize the man, brown hair falling in a veil around battered face rendering his features unrecognizable. It was the coat Anders recognized first of all; black leather, hooded, the hood lined with grey fur, the lower half of the coat covered in scale mail that glittered in the light of the fire. The coat was hanging open, showing paler untanned skin dotted with darkening bruises, the sleeves fallen partway down muscular forearms, making clear the dark trickles of blood that coated them, sign of how cruelly the coarse rope had bit into the tender skin of his wrists.

He stared, remembering a scream of heartbroken denial. Remembering a voice demanding his death, threatening havoc if Hawke did not kill him... remembered Hawke's cold gaze, watching Sebastian stalk away, before she'd turned an equally cold look on Anders.

If not for the need for silence, he would have laughed. So that's who he'd been trailing behind the last few days... Sebastian, doubtless on his way to reclaim his throne and then march on Kirkwall, as he'd threatened, or at least start a hunt for the apostate whose death he so craved, once word reached him that Anders was no longer to be found in Kirkwall.

He glanced at the men by the fire, sorting through Sebastian's belongings by the look of it. A flash of white and gold as one of the men placed someone in one of their own packs showed what had become of Sebastian's shiny armour; divided up as loot among the brigands. One had a familiar bow slung across his back, beside a second one not anywhere near as fine. He rose to his feet even as Anders watched, picking up a pack and a second quiver of arrows as he did so, the others also rising to their feet. The sky was just beginning to lighten towards dawn, the world becoming visible in shades and shapes of grey rather than degrees of darkness.

"What about him?" one asked, jerking a thumb in Sebastian's direction.

"Leave him for the wolves," another said. "Blood will attract them soon enough. Or worse."

That drew another dark laugh. One of them, the largest, walked over and picked up the body of their fallen comrade, throwing it over his shoulder as casually as if it was nothing but a sack of grain. They walked away, none so much as glancing back.

He stayed where he was, not just until silence fell, the sounds of their voices receding in the distance, but until sounds resumed, the normal calls and cries of a forest waking to dawn. Only then did he finally edge out from behind his bushes, picking his way carefully down the slope, carefully and quietly enough that only the closest of birds and animals hushed again.

Sebastian hung limply, motionless, only the slow swell and fall of his laboured breathing making it clear he yet lived. Anders stopped a little distance away, looking at him, wincing as he took in the damage. Broken ribs, at a guess, possibly worse, judging by the uneven motion of his chest and the faint bubbling sound in his breathing. A nasty cut in one leg, slicing through leather leggings and skin to bare muscle, wound and leggings crusted with drying blood. Bruises, cuts – clearly the people who'd beaten him hadn't bothered with niceties like removing gauntlets beforehand. Left there hanging like that, he would die.

And while Sebastian's death might marginally simplify his own life... blight it, he was a _healer_. This was a man he knew, no matter how adversarial their relationship had often been. He couldn't just turn and walk away, pretend there was nothing he could do to help him, that he'd never seen him, that he hadn't been _here_ , almost within touching distance of him.

His belt knife sufficed to cut through the ropes tying Sebastian in place, though getting him free without dropping him to the ground – not something wise to do with the likely damage to his ribs – took some manoeuvring. He ended up having to wrap one arm around Sebastian's chest, just under his arms, bearing up his weight as he reached up and sawed through the rope where it crossed over the branch. Sebastian gave a pained cry as his arms dropped free at last, but by the glazed look in his eyes he wasn't truly conscious; delirious, perhaps, or possibly withdrawn into himself, the only way to escape from his tormentors.

Anders lowered Sebastian carefully to the ground, putting him down on his back and straightening out his limbs before turning his attention to the worst of the injures. The ribs first of all, since that injury worried him most. Some cracked, he decided as he ran hands carefully over darkly bruised flesh, at least a couple broken; by a kick, judging from the shape of the bruise over top of them. And one, yes, not quite piercing the lung yet, but close to it, the lung itself bruised and bleeding where the broken end of bone pressed against it.

He cursed, just once, over his lack of lyrium potions, then set to work. The ribs and lung, first of all, and then the leg, he decided, and possibly the wrists, which were pretty ugly too. Anything else would have to wait until later.

* * *

He dozed, sitting upright by the ebbing fire, exhausted from the use of his magic. Worried more than a little that the bandits might return, or a second group come along, or predators of the four-legged variety show up in search of a meal, but too tired to stay awake, and unable to move Sebastian to some safer location without help. He wished he dared add more wood to the fire, which would at least be of some use against inquisitive wildlife, but didn't trust that the bandits had withdrawn so far away that they wouldn't notice if the fire burned on beyond when it should have gone out naturally, and return to investigate. So he dozed, waking at every overly-loud bird call or brief silence, too anxious to really sleep even if he'd been willing to.

The sun was almost straight overhead, the fire down to smoking coals, when Sebastian stirred, groaning in pain. Anders froze, watching him, wondering how the man would react to his presence.

Sebastian's eyes fluttered open, staring up at the sky overhead, eyes as bright a blue as it. He lay very still for a long moment, no movement but his fingers slowly curling into loose fists, then suddenly looked around, eyes wide and frightened. And stopped, seeing Anders sitting there, his eyes widening almost comically, whites showing all the way around as he gasped in a breath of air. An unwise reaction; it set off a fit of coughing, the lung being healed but still irritated, and there being a certain amount of mucus and blood that needed to come out. Sebastian was pale and panting and curled on one side before he finally managed to get his breathing back under control. He stared at Anders from where he lay, a faintly puzzled expression on his face as he wiped a thread of blood and mucus from his chin with the back of one hand.

Anders remained where he was, knowing Sebastian was in no danger, and fearing to approach too closely to a man who, as of the last time they'd been together, had wished him dead.

"Why... why are you here?" Sebastian finally asked, voice a raw rasp.

Anders shrugged. "Just random luck. Your luck, not mine... I'd rather be far, far distant. No offence... I'm sure you can understand why."

Sebastian made a huffing sound, not quite laughter, too bitter for that, then laboriously rolled over onto his back again, groaning and pressing one hand to his side.

"You've got cracked ribs and a lot of bruising," Anders told him. "Try not to move too energetically."

"And you decided against healing them?" Sebastian asked, voice hostile, turning to look at him again.

"No. But you also had broken ribs, a nearly-punctured lung, and a gash in your thigh; I thought those were more important to heal," Anders said firmly. "And I only have so much energy."

Sebastian stared silently at him, one hand still cautiously feeling over his torso, the other reaching down to finger the gash in the leather of his leggings, the puckered scar in the flesh beneath that aligned with it. He flushed, just slightly, mouth setting in a firm line. "Thank you," he finally said, very quietly, then looked away, back up at the sky. "Now what?"

Anders sighed. "Now, if you'll promise not to kill me if I move within reach of you, I think the two of us should make tracks away from here, as far and as fast as possible. Just in case those bastards decide to come back and make sure that you're actually dead. Not to mention that once dark comes, there'll be a lot of scavengers and predators out, who'll be attracted to all the blood-scent here."

A long pause, then a very minimal nod from Sebastian. "All right," he said, voice cool and detached. "I promise not to kill you just yet."

Anders nodded, and rose to his feet, then gave Sebastian a suspicious look. "No torturing me or anything like that either."

Sebastian glared at him. "I would _never_ ," he said sharply, then drew another deep breath, blinking furiously. "Never. If and when I kill you, I would do it cleanly."

Anders smiled crookedly. "Well, at least you're honest about still wishing my death."

"Are you surprised?"

"No, not really," Anders said, and then sighed, feeling even more tired than several days of little real sleep accounted for. "Come on," he said, stepping closer and leaning down to help Sebastian to his feet. "Let's get out of here."

Sebastian scowled, but accepted the help; he needed it, the leg being too freshly-healed to work properly yet; it would take some time for the deeply scared muscle to regain flexibility. In the meantime he was going to be limping, and between that and the still-unhealed damage to his ribs, he was going to need at least some help with things like standing up, sitting or lying down, or walking on any particularly steep slopes.

"Any idea of a good direction to go?" Anders asked worriedly as he looked around. "If it helps any, _they_ left that way," he said, gesturing to the western side of the clearing.

Sebastian frowned. "I'd say northwest, to the pass, but..." He paused, and breathed out deeply through his nose, jaw setting again. "I doubt I'm up for much travel today, and if they left that way, it's likely that wherever they're based is near the pass; the better to prey on travellers. Better to find a safe place to hole up for a day or two." He gave Anders an uneasy sideways look after he spoke.

Anders merely nodded. "Sounds sensible to me. I've never been in this area before... any idea of where such a safe place might be, or are we going to just wander at random until we find something?"

Sebastian sighed. "Wander at random, I think – I've only been this way once myself, when I was taken from Starkhaven to Kirkwall. I know nothing of the area."

"Right. Well, since they went west, I'm thinking _east_ might be a good choice for us," he said, and turned that direction, frowning at the steeply wooded slope in that direction. "Or maybe northeast."

"Northeast it is," Sebastian agreed, and after only a single glance around the empty clearing, began hobbling in that direction. Anders followed, keeping his distance, but ready to assist if Sebastian needed it. Some part of him wondered about two things – why he himself wasn't hurrying away as fast as he could in the opposite direction, now that Sebastian was out of any immediate danger from his injuries, and secondly... why Sebastian, who'd seemed so intent on immediate revenge following the chantry's destruction, hadn't made any threatening move toward him, even when freshly awoken after what had to have been a rather horrific episode for him.

* * *

Luck was with them; they struck a narrow game trail after an hour's travel, and were able to follow it higher into the foothills of the mountains. "Deer," was Sebastian's judgement after carefully examining the dusty surface. And, sure enough, some hours later they even caught sight of some, a doe and yearling fawn in a wild meadow. The deer raised heads and watched them warily, then started and bounded away, disappearing into the woods on the far side of the clearing.

Sebastian looked around. "There," he said gesturing to the uphill end of the sloping meadow, where it was bounded by an overgrown rock fall backing on to a sheer cliff face. "There should be some sort of shelter to be found there."

He proved right; some of the rocks that had split off the cliff over time were huge, the tumbled mass of them forming a warren of tunnels and cave-like spaces both small and large. Doubtless some of them were home to local wildlife – snakes, rabbits, small predators and the like – but they found a suitable place for themselves, where a gap at the uphill end of a slab of rock gave entrance to a room-sized space beneath it. The slab had clearly been in place for some time, covered in lichen and mosses and with most of the openings around its edges filled with smaller rocks, humus, and plants.

"If we're careful, we can light a fire," Anders judged, examining the space.

Sebastian gave him a questioning look.

"Nowhere for the light to escape," Anders explained. "As long as we keep it small enough... and smokeless, though we should still plan to go the night without one." He grinned briefly when Sebastian's eyebrows rose even further. "I've had a lot of experience at travelling without being noticed."

Sebastian winced slightly. "As I have not," he said.

"I'll gather fuel... I know what sorts of things to look for, that will burn without smoke," Anders offered, and after helping Sebastian to sit down, made his way back out.

A stand of blackthorn at one side of the clearing provided him a number of dead branches, as well as a double-handful of sloes. The sloes would be tart, it being too early in the fall for them to have frozen and mellowed yet, but still edible. A fallen tree further along gave him some birch bark and punk wood to use as tinder. He spotted a patch of chamomile while on his way back, some of the blooms from earlier in the year still clinging to the dying stems, and stopped long enough to pick a handful of the sun-dried flowers for tea, the sloes and flowers both being carefully put away in belt pouch and pockets.

Sebastian was lying on his back, eyes closed, hand pressing against one side again.

"Ribs hurting?" Anders asked as he squatted down and began to make a place for the fire in one corner, where he judged it least likely that any light from it could be seen, or might escape to reflect betrayingly up the cliff face nearby once it grew dark out.

"Yes," Sebastian grated out.

"I'll see what more I can do for them in a few minutes," Anders said, and began breaking the branches into smaller lengths. The wood was tough; it took considerable effort to break the branches up, even having only harvested relatively slender lengths of it. He carefully assembled a small pile of it, poking bits of bark and punk into the gaps at the bottom, then with a quick spark of magic ignited it. It was a very tiny fire, but good dry blackthorn would burn both very hot and almost smokelessly. The tin cup he carried in one belt pouch would have to do as a kettle for heating water for tea; thankfully the water-bag at his waist was almost full, having been refilled earlier when they'd crossed a small stream. He set the cup near the fire to warm, then moved over to where Sebastian was, helping him back up to a sitting position. "I'll need, err..." he gestured vaguely at Sebastian's coat.

Sebastian nodded, face setting again as he unfastened and opened the coat. Anders touched him as little as necessary, fingertips brushing lightly against warm skin as he sought out and healed the remaining cracks and the worst of the bruises – not completely, just enough to relieve most of the remaining pain. Sebastian drew a deep breath once he finished and sat back, quickly refastening his coat, a brief look of relief crossing his face – likely as much because Anders was done as from the reduction of the pain the injuries had been causing him.

Anders frowned, peering closely at his face. "I'd better do something about those cuts and scrapes," he said. "A few of them are looking redder and puffier than I like."

Sebastian froze utterly for a long moment, giving him a very untrusting look.

"You don't want those to get infected... they'll scar," Anders pointed out gently. "Though a few of them might anyway," he added, frowning, then forced himself to smile, fighting back the shiver as bad memories from his past own crept out of hiding. "Can't have them spoiling your pretty face."

That made Sebastian give him a very black look, but he didn't protest or move aside as Anders reached out, only flinching briefly as Anders' fingers contacted the first swollen scrape. Then his eyes closed, his jaw setting in an expression of forced endurance, and he sat silently and still while Anders carefully worked, driving out the first vestiges of infection in several of them, healing away the bruising and swelling, using careful trickles of energy to encourage them to seal over and heal cleanly.

He was tired again when he was done, tired, but with that pleased feeling of having done a _good_ job. Not a thorough one; he didn't have enough energy to have done more than a basic healing of the marks, leaving Sebastian's face still cross-crossed with dark lines of scabs and smears of blood, but they were healing properly now, and hopefully wouldn't scar too noticeably. He smiled at the other man, hand still lingering on his cheek. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked.

Sebastian's eyes opened, lids drooping tiredly. "No," he said, voice flat and almost emotionless.

It was Anders' turn to freeze. That empty look, that empty voice... Maker, but he knew them both, from the inside. He swallowed thickly, then looked away, scrabbling in his belt pouches, pulling out a handful of the sloes. "Here, have some food," he said roughly, holding them out.

Sebastian eyes dropped to his outstretched hand, stared uncomprehendingly for a while, then reluctantly reached out, accepting the fruit. "Thank you," he said, and put one in his mouth, chewing slowly, not even grimacing at the taste.

"You'll feel better once you've eaten," Anders said softly, even knowing it wasn't necessarily true. "I'll make some tea," he said, moving back over to the fire, pulling the tin cup away from the fire and crumbling a few of the flower heads into it. "We'll have to share the cup, I'm afraid."

No answer to that, not even a grunt of acknowledgement. Anders frowned as he waited for the tea to steep, chewing on his lower lip, finally picking up the cup and moving back to Sebastian's side.

The man sat motionless, the uneaten sloes tumbled to the floor from his hand, head nodding sleepily. He flinched as Anders crouched down beside him, eyes widening in fright again for a moment before he recognized him, then began trembling.

"Drink," Anders said gently, and held the cup to his lips, not trusting him to be capable of holding it right now. He remembered this... the way, hours or days after some traumatic event, it would finally catch up to you... the sudden overwhelming exhaustion and need for sleep it brought, as a body that had been running at peak for too long suddenly crashed. And between those bandits... those bandits and his own actions in Kirkwall a scant few days before, he forced himself to admit... Sebastian had certainly had a lot of trauma recently.

Sebastian's eyes met his over the rim of the cup as the man obediently drank, throat working as he swallowed, once, twice, a third time, then pulled his head back a little, turning away, done, eyes filling with sudden tears. Anders put the cup down to one side, then hesitantly put his arms around him, feeling Sebastian freeze again. And then Sebastian took a deep, sobbing breath, and began to cry, helplessly, messily, leaning heavily against Anders as he did so, blindly seeking comfort.

Anders held him, rocking him a little and patting awkwardly at his back. The storm of tears passed quickly, Sebastian drooping in his arms, too exhausted to continue. Anders eased himself into a more comfortable position, his back against one wall of the space, and guided Sebastian to lay down, his head pillowed on Anders' thigh.

"Sleep," Anders told him quietly, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. "I'll keep watch. You're safe here."

He didn't know if Sebastian heard his words, the man's body already lax, breath slowing and deepening. Anders sighed after a while, leaning back further against the wall, only able to wonder what would happen now, their paths having not just crossed again, but having become entangled.

Only time would tell.


End file.
